


something we gotta talk about

by krav



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bottom Dean, Dubious Consent, Episode: s08e09 Citizen Fang, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Purgatory, Rating: NC17, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Vampire Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krav/pseuds/krav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's jealous of Benny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. like old times

A glint of mental flashing through the air, and the vampire's head rolls. 

Benny looks down at Dean, whom he just rescued. Regarding him for a moment where he lies prone on his back. Dean can't quite read the look in his eyes. 

"You lost a step," he says softly. Takes Dean's hand, pulls him to his feet. "Need to lay off the junk food," he says, but his eyes travel over Dean with nothing but approval. 

Dean touches the gash on his neck, winces, letting out a breath at the sting. 

Benny's eyes on him, dark. Looking at the blood oozing sluggish from his neck. 

"You all right?" Dean asks, warily. 

Benny firms his jaw. "I'm fine."

Dean's fingers brush the cut again, fingertips smearing the blood. Watching Benny watch him. 

Benny doesn't say anything. 

"Aah!" Dean, gasping when he presses too deep. 

He sees the moment Benny snaps, hears the drumming of his own heart so clearly now. Fear twists in him with excitement. 

Benny surges forward, knocking Dean's hand away, pressing his mouth to the cut on Dean's neck. Dean feels the scrape of fangs over his skin, scratching but not puncturing, sting of saliva in his wound as Benny's rough tongue laps his neck. 

He's hard, feels Benny is too, pressed up against him. Turns him on more, feeling the hard cock against him, hearing Benny's harsh breath in his ear. Dean goes soft and submissive, tilting his chin away, giving Benny more room to work. 

Dangerous, offering a vampire your neck. Dean's being reckless but his vision is blurring and he's far too aroused to care. 

Benny doesn't bite him, but closes his mouth over the cut, sucks. 

Dean gasps. 

Benny growls and jerks away, didn't drink much. Dean swaying where he's standing ain't from blood lost. 

Something heavy shoves into his gut and he's swung over Benny's shoulder, carried out of the abandoned warehouse. Carried out to Benny's truck. 

Ain't many people out, this time of night.  Specially not here.

He's dropped back on his feet and shoved into the truck, metal hard behind him. Metal in his mouth, then — taste of his own blood as Benny's tongue thrusts between his teeth. 

Benny's mouth on his, claiming.

Benny's mouth moving down, over his skin, nipping now, and tonguing the cut on his neck. 

"Benny, please," Dean whimpering, helpless. Not even sure what he's asking for. 

Benny thrusting his cock into Dean's. Benny's big.

Dean, moaning as Benny sucks on his neck. 

A strong hand slams into the truck by Dean's face. He flinches. 

"Dammit, Dean!" Benny's voice gritty with arousal, with hunger. He makes a low sound in his throat, pulling back with effort. and spitting Dean's blood on the ground. 

Hands on Dean's hips. Benny flips him around so he's facing away, presses Dean hard into the truck, pushing his cock against Dean's ass. 

"Should get you on your hands and knees in the dirt," he grunts, shoving thick fingers into Dean's mouth before he can respond. "Be just like purgatory," he says, soft lilt. 

Hands on Dean's waist unbuckle his belt, dragging his pants halfway down his thighs. Benny's fingers shoving back between his lips. 

Dean licks over Benny's fingers, sloppy, getting as much saliva as he can.  They drag out of his mouth and poke into his ass, thrusting deep without preamble. Dean cries out, squirming. Benny pins him with a heavy forearm across his back. 

Just as suddenly as they pushed in, the fingers withdraw, leaving his ass open, wet to the cool air. 

Clink of Benny's belt.

Dean hears Benny spit into his palm, drag the spit over his huge cock. 

Then it's pressed up between Dean's ass cheeks, much thicker than fingers. Benny ain't gentle though, and his cock pushes into Dean's ass, a thick rod of pain. Dean bangs his fist into the truck, hurting as Benny's cock forces into him. 

Then he's full and panting, Benny breathing heavy in his ear, pulling his hips back. 

Benny pulls most of the way out and slams back in, Dean whimpering, dropping his forehead against the metal. Another rough thrust and his body opens, lets Benny in with less resistance. Benny groans. Fucks into him again, long and hard and deep. Dean's breath catches in his throat as overwhelming pleasure shoots through him, mounting as Benny fucks him. 

Benny's shorter and his forehead presses into the nape of Dean's neck like it used to. He thrusts his cock in faster, big arm no longer pinning Dean down but curving around his body, holding him close, other hand splayed on the truck for balance. 

Dean struggles, but Benny holds him firm. He doesn't want to get away, likes being fucked. Struggles, feeling how strong Benny is and knowing he couldn't get free if he wanted to. 

Benny, pounding into him. Holding him still and fucking him. Dean's cock swings useless between his legs, hard and hurting. Benny grabs between his legs and pulls on Dean's cock, finishing him in two strokes. Thrusts deep into Dean as he comes, biting down on the back of his neck.

Dean near whites out with pleasure, dragging himself back to reality just in time to feel Benny go tense, spurt hot cum in Dean's ass.

"Oh yeah," Dean breathes. Benny collapses against him. He's heavy, cock still thick in Dean's ass.

They're both breathless. When he can speak again, Benny says, "Been too damn long, brother." Sounds amused.

His hand has moved low on Dean's gut, as if he can feel the space he's carved out in Dean's body. Dean covers Benny's hand with his own, silently agreeing. Weaves their fingers together.

Benny groans and rolls his forehead against Dean's shoulder. Holds Dean tight.  

Benny, squeezing him hard for a minute before he lets go, pulls out. Dean feels the wind colder now; it's real wet between his legs. He's swollen so it'll drip out later. 

And by then, Benny will be gone. 


	2. Purgatory

It's always been easy with Benny—no fuss, he gives Dean what he wants. With Sam there's a lifetime of history, which includes betrayal and regret. And the fresh wounds have festered, since Sam doesn't try to make Dean talk about his feelings anymore.

If he did, he'd point out that he'd spent a year in another dimension. He figured he'd die in purgatory—every dark night fraught with danger, every steel dawn a product of chance. 

For the past year Sam's been, what? Buying organic tomatoes? Playing fetch with his— _their_ —dog? Settling down to the life he's always wanted, with some chick named Amelia? Sounds real tough. Dean did some research, on the girl: she's a veterinarian, top of her class. Lives in the suburbs. She's pretty.

Dean isn't jealous or anything. He kinda knows, deep down, that Sam doesn't want him the same. Doesn't make it hurt less. And it's just different: Dean thought he was gonna die; Sam didn't bother looking for him.

The thing with Benny happened slow, then real fast.

Dean, washing his shirt out in the creek, Benny standing guard. Dean sees Benny eyeing his neck. He shudders. Water's cold.

Building fires at night. Benny watching him.

Bedding down a couple hours. Benny watching out for him. Dean wouldn't be alive at all if it weren't for Benny.

They're crossing a high treacherous overpass, bridge of land over a naked clearing, when a nest of vamps catches up. Benny's own kind. They promised to drink Dean dry for killing their brethren—something like that—and they've been tailing Dean and Benny for several days. There's too many of them to take on all at once, so the pair are picking vamps off one by one when they can isolate them. 

Benny pushes him down into the dirt. They watch the vamps in the clearing below, circling. Watching the surrounding trees for any sign of movement.

"They can smell you," Benny says, real quiet.

Dean fingers a rip in his jeans, where a werewolf's claws cut into his leg that morning. It's still bleeding, sluggish but red.

Then Benny's hands are on his legs, turning Dean over on his back. Dean doesn't struggle because it'd make noise and, if the predators figure out where they are, they'll close off both ends of the overpass. No escape. So Dean takes his chances with Benny, moving silent over him, dipping his head down to Dean's leg. Lips closing over his wound.

Dean's breath catches, and he bites his lip to keep from crying out. Benny's mouth on him spreading unexpected warmth as he sucks Dean's blood.

The wind picks up, throwing off the scent, and eventually the vampires disperse into the surrounding trees.

Dean on his back, legs spread, Benny's mouth still sealed over the gash in his thigh. He's horny—knows from years of experience that getting like this with another guy usually means sex. And Dean hasn't been fucked since he got to purgatory. So he lies on his back staring up through the tangle of tree branches at the bleary grey sky, not sure he wants this but not planning on resisting too hard either, seeing as he owes Benny his life several dozen times over. 

Then Benny's pulling him to his feet, saying "We gotta move."

Dean staring at him, dazed. Benny's fangs retracting. Then he smiles. "C'mon Dean."

Dean's heart thudding as he races after the vampire.

They move fast, but around nightfall they're cornered by four from the nest. They fight, back to back, and they win. No longer ridiculously outnumbered, they take the fight to the three remaining vamps.

A celebratory blaze, and they dip back into a shallow cave in the rock face. Benny strips Dean of all his clothing, even removing his boots, then fucks him against the wall, craggy stone digging into Dean's back as Benny thrusts into him. 

The next morning Dean explains that it can't happen again, seeing as he's got someone back home. Benny nods, "You're the boss, Dean."

Benny keeps calling him boss and chief, doesn't disguise the heat when he looks at Dean, but nothing more happens until they hit upon the lair of some giant reptile.

At first it looks empty, and then some hybrid between a dragon and a monitor lizard springs out from the shadows, taking them both by surprise. It launches itself at Benny, fangs sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. Dean slashes at it with his machete, but the thick hide doesn't allow more than a shallow cut before the thing rounds on him. The blade is ripped from his hands. Dean gulps.

The thing advances, fangs dripping black slime. It knocks Dean on his back and he gropes around for a rock, bashes it across the skull. It falls heavy on top of him, then rears its head back, hissing, and Benny dives in, yelling wildly and wrapping his hands around the monster's head. With a wet crack, Benny snaps its neck. Then he rolls off, groaning.

Dean struggles out from under the creature and goes to Benny's side. "You're hurt," he says. 

Benny grimaces when Dean touches him. "Some kinda poison," he agrees.

Dean drags him behind some bushes, out of sight, and peels off Benny's shirt. The poison is spreading in dark purple veins across his chest. 

"Jesus, Benny," he mutters, drawing his knife to break open the wound, hopefully drain it. Benny's hand on his wrist, stilling him.

"You follow the water," he says. "Head in the direction of the sunrise and follow the water."

Dean grits his teeth. "Don't you dare," he whispers. "After all this time, don't you think of leaving."

Benny smiles a little, and puts up with it as Dean drains his wound then wraps a strip of fabric tight around his shoulder, but he's real weak.

Dean shakes him. "Tell me what you need," he demands, but the vampire claps a hand to the side of his neck, asking for something else.

"Kiss me," he says.

Dean pulls away. "Not a fucking last request," he growls.

That night, he's the one keeping watch. Benny's restless—he doesn't need sleep, but he's still lying there, pale and contorting with pain.

Eventually Dean can't stand to watch it anymore, and he stretches out beside Benny. Then on second thought, he wraps his arms around him, pressing his face into the vampire's pale flesh and muttering, "this never happened."

Benny's good arm immediately returns the hug, big hand rubbing down Dean's back. He chuckles when Dean's hard on presses into his hip.

Dean squirms and Benny holds him fast, so he urges Benny to turn on his side. They're face to face like that, in the blue dark. Sunrise coming soon. Benny's eyes soft on Dean's eyes, his lips. Boner hitching slightly against Dean's.

Dean moves to kiss him but Benny turns away, and then he sees the fangs all out, Benny trying to restrain himself.

"You gotta feed," he realizes. Benny don't get hungry in purgatory, only now he's hurt pretty bad.

"Be fine," Benny grunts.

"No you won't." Dean bares his neck, curls a hand behind Benny's head and draws him real close.

Benny fights it at first, but the more he turns Dean on, the less he can resist.

Benny bites him carefully, but then he sucks with abandon. Warmth leaving Dean's neck. He gasps, wondering if it was such a good idea, and Benny rolls on top of him, pinning him down and rutting against him. Dean, moaning.

Pleasure turns to pain and then it stops, abruptly as it started. Dean's a little lightheaded, but far from dead, and they lie there panting for a long moment.

The rest happens fast. Benny, strength renewed, flips Dean over onto his stomach and drags his pants down. A little spit is all the prep Dean gets, then a thick cock is pushing into him, hard and relentless. A hand clamps over his mouth to keep him from yelling, and Dean has no choice but to take it as he's fucked roughly.

Near the end when Benny's cock forces in with less resistance, Dean wetter, maybe with blood, he gets real horny. His back arches and he cums on the dry leaves underneath him right as Benny shoves deep, fingers digging into Dean's hips, growling his name.

After that it happens pretty regular. Dean will be packing up camp or drying his clothes after bathing, and Benny will push him down on his hands and knees and nail him. Gets so Dean's hard whenever he so much as feels Benny's eyes on him.

Dean thinks about Sam at first, but as the days stretch long and they get lost more than once, he doesn't know what his chances are of ever seeing his brother again. And he likes Benny. Benny doesn't ask him to promise anything, nor to give up on Sam. Just wants Dean there in the moment.

Eventually they kiss, too—Benny starts taking him on his back, missionary, and it's intimate. Then one day Benny licks into his mouth and Dean doesn't try to stop him.

Dean thinks of all this as he's driving to Texas. Away from Benny; towards Sam.


	3. burnin for you

He's feeling strong, like he won't give in this time, until about twenty miles out. Then the old throb starts up in him, a rush of excitement he gets every time his brother returns, every time he's gonna see Sam. Same blazing thrill he used to get when he drove through California. He shivers as it pulses deep. Presses the pedal to the floor.

Sam's different than Benny. He's pushy and obnoxious and beautiful in a way that's stolen Dean's heart since the day his little brother was born. He's died for Sammy before and he'd do it again, no question. But Sam's different. He asks for things. Drives Dean to the edge. Makes him hate himself, sometimes. Sam's rigid in a way Benny never is. Sam wants Dean to give in to him totally, and if Dean steps wrong, Sam might cut him out forever. He makes Dean ache.

He makes Dean burn, too. When Sam puts his hands on his brother, Dean can only give him a thousand times yes.

He pulls in front of a motel in Kermit, Texas, ready to come out of his skin. Pulse in his ears. He knocks.

For one perfect moment, when Sam opens the door, he looks happy to see Dean. Then he makes to slam the door in Dean's face.

Dean waits.

Finally, exhaling a pent-up breath, Sam jerks the door open and lets Dean in. 

"Who'd you expect," Dean says, cold. Blood pounding.

Sam's gritting his teeth; doesn't respond. Dean brushes past. Hears the door slam behind him.

Sam's pissed.

"Long drive," he remarks, trying to hide it.

"Yeah, well I wouldn'ta had to make it if you hadn't hung up on me," Dean says. A chill runs through him as he realizes the truth in his own words: he's the one who basically threw Sam and Amelia back together. Likely, he shouldn't have made the trip.

Still, now that he's here, he's gotta know.

"I heard all I needed to hear," Sam retorts, dismissive.

"No, you heard what you wanted to hear. I told you Benny wasn't killing. Hell, I watched him end the fang that was."

"Seriously, Dean? That's the story you're going with?" Sam's voice, smooth and icy. "The vampire was the real victim here?"

Dean's suddenly tired. "Hey, like it or not, that's the truth, okay?"

Sam narrows his eyes.

"There was a time when that actually meant something."

"Yeah, no kidding," Sam breathes.

"What does that mean."

"You think this is just about Benny?"

"What the hell are you talking about."

"What the hell do you think I'm talking about?"

And yes, Sam is always this frustrating. "Amelia?" Dean says, disbelief.

Sam nods once, challenging. Demanding an explanation with his eyes.

"Oh come on, Sammy, I sent you that text cause I needed you to—to—"

"Needed me to what? Tear ass to Texas? Be afraid that what happened to—" he gestures to Dean but then says "—Jessica, and everybody we cared about, mighta happened to her?"

"You were gonna kill Benny. What was I supposed to do?"

Sam sticks his jaw out, angry. "Why are you here, Dean."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? That I was wrong? Fine, I was wrong."

"Wrong doesn't begin to—you trusted a vampire over your own brother."

They're both quiet for a long moment.

Dean shakes his head. "What the hell do we do now?"

"That depends on you. On whether or not you're done with him."

Dean thinks of Sam and Amelia, together, probably here. "Honestly, I don't know."

He turns to Sam. Hurt flashes briefly through his brother's eyes, but then he sets his jaw. Stubborn bastard.

"Glad I made the drive," Dean says, heading for the door. Dean's got his hand on the doorknob when Sam says "Wait."

Dean pulls the door open. "What is it, Sam?"

Sam's hand reaching past him, pushing the door shut.

Dean turns and Sam crowds him into the door. His eyes are hard. "Why're you here, Dean?"

Dean can hardly breathe. "Fuckin told you already," he grunts, trying his damnedest to sound unaffected.

"You jealous?"

Dean scoffs. "Me? ... No."

"Swear it," he whispers.

Dean's burning. "S-swear what?"

"That you don't give a fuck." 

Sam's close, looking into Dean's eyes. No way Dean can lie to him like this.

"The hell do you need that for," Dean tries to sound derisive, but he shudders when Sam's knuckles trail down the side of his face.

"Wanna know," Sam explains, mouth a centimeter from Dean's. 

Dean's sore, gotta be burnt up by now. "I—I don't," he stammers, cutting his eyes away and taking a breath, "Don't give a fuck. What you do."

For a moment he thinks it worked. He shuts his eyes in agony.

Then Sam's kissing him hard, driving him back up against the door. Dean grunts as the air's forced out of his lungs. Sam, mauling his mouth, stealing his breath.

His heart racing, catching fire.

Sam breaks the kiss to ask, softly, "Where's Benny?"

Dean turns his face away. Hard fingers on his jaw pull him back: eyes on Sam. A thumb grazes his bottom lip, pushing into his mouth. Dean, still soft and supple, yielding to his brother. Licking his thumb until it holds his tongue down, then draws out of his mouth, rubbing slick back and forth across his bottom lip. 

Sam's eyes on Dean's lips, intent. 

Dean's getting real hard in his pants. His ass hurts, aches already from when Benny fucked him, but that won't stop his brother. Dean knows from the way Sam's watching his lips that he's getting fucked again tonight. 

Sam's kissing him suddenly, biting his mouth open, licking into him. Thumb smearing saliva across Dean's cheek. Dean groans, widening his stance as Sam's knee pushes between his legs, Sammy's monster cock a thick line down the leg of his pants.

Sam's hands drag down the lines of Dean's body, then hold his hips steady as Sam thrusts a little, losing control for a moment.

"Dean," Sam says tightly, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers dig into Dean's hips. Dean squirms, Sam shoves him back against the door, holding him still. Dean makes a noise of protest. 

"Shut up," Sam pants, opening his eyes. "Where's Benny?"

Dean presses his lips together. 

"Tell me," Sam demands. Dean would be smiling at Sam's bossy attitude, if they were talking about something else.

"Fuck you," he replies instead, remembering the way he killed Amy Pond, Sam's monster friend. Remembering the way Sam left him for it, wouldn't talk to him for nearly a month. She and Sam weren't close like Dean and Benny have been, back in purgatory. And now Sam wants Benny dead, won't listen to reason.

Sam gets a grip, kisses Dean with bruising force. Hands sliding under Dean's clothes, rubbing his nipples. Dean moaning.

"Answer me." Sam's voice is hard, wrecked. He's breathless. 

"Don't ask me that."

Dean's shoved back against the door, Sam's arm bracketing his head, Sam looming over him. His eyes are like flint. "Fine," he grits out. "Where's Martin?" 

Dean regards him for a long moment, knowing Sam will misunderstand, but not willing to lie about this. Sam stares back at him, daring him to say it.

"He's dead, Sam," Dean admits finally. 

Sam's mouth is a tight line. He nods once. "And Benny?"

Dean meets his brother's gaze, quiet. Sam's eyes narrow.

"You let him go, didn't you?"

Suddenly Dean wants to be anywhere but here, preferably a few states away. With Benny, in the mountains of Colorado. But he's gonna stay until Sam's done with him. 

Maybe the fire will consume his soul, end the incessant burning. And if Dean walks funny after, well, it'll be Sam laughing at him, toppling him into bed again before he gets a chance to recover.

Dean doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. "You let him go," Sam concludes.

Strangely, he kisses Dean softer, pushing against him and taking his face in his hands. Dean arches up into the touch, letting Sam lick his mouth stupid. He shoves down the sense of unease—the little voice in his head that knows they haven't called truce yet. And Sam wants Dean to bleed before he will forgive him.

Righteous anger flares in him, but it doesn't help, shooting straight down to pulse in his groin. He goes pliant in his brother's hands. Lets Sam fuck his tongue into his mouth, manhandle his hips.

God, Dean missed this. They spent months acting casual around each other, pretending the blaze didn't eat right through them. Sam isn't pretending now. He's sinking his teeth into Dean's bottom lip, drawing a small bead of blood. Dragging their clothes off while distracting Dean with his mouth. Not just the kisses—still gentle, but deeper now, claiming—but also the words, "big brother... Dean... God, you're so pretty..." Heat rushing to Dean's bare cock when his naked brother draws him across the room, pulls him down onto the bed.

Dean knows they missed a step, but he's too far gone not to want it, flames and all.

They wrestle, kissing, hands dragging over each other's skin. Making out like they can reclaim lost time, rutting together. Eventually Sam hooks a knee behind Dean's, pushing him down on his stomach.

Sam biting the back of his shoulder, cock jutting forward, nudging under Dean's balls. Dean's got about five seconds to say something. He grabs Sam's wrist.

"You wanna fuck me, use lube."

That buys him another eight seconds. With Sam off the bed, Dean sits up, untangling a foot from the bedsheets, and scoots back, pressing his spine against the headboard. Then Sam's kneeling in front of him, big everywhere and buck naked and not shy about it.

"Dean?" Fingers cradling his jaw.

"Sammy," he sighs.

Sam kissing him full on the mouth. Dean pulls back with some effort, holding his brother at a safe distance.

"Sammy look," he starts, eyes dropping to the floor.

Sam clues in. "You okay?" 

Cringing internally, he shakes his head. "It's about Benny."

Sam stills, eyes going dark. But he's listening.

For a moment Dean considers maybe not mentioning it—after all, Sam might not notice in a couple days, and he's pretty sure vampires can't spread diseases—but Sam will think it's gross, so he's gotta say something. And now he's kicking himself for letting things go this far.

"Look, Benny and I... Earlier we... We, um." Dean stares at his brother helplessly, not sure he can actually say it.

Sam's eyes give nothing away, and for a horrible moment Dean's brain scrambles for an appropriate euphemism.

Then Sam huffs. "I figured," he says.

Dean blinks. "Wait, what? How?"

"Was looking for it."

Dean gapes.

Sam's eyes crinkle in pain. "Oh, and, uh," fingertips brush the soft flesh on Dean's neck. "Your wound's clean." His eyes linger on Dean's neck. Moderately deep gash with hardly a scab. "Really... um. _Clean_ ," he says, lips twisting around the word like it's anything but. Scathing.

Dean flushes hotly, bowing his head.

After a long moment, he mumbles, "I'll go."

Sam's eyes on his, lingering heat tempered with hostility. "I told you to wait," he says.

Dean shivers. He can almost feel the flames licking his skin.

A pause, then he realizes he's waiting for orders. He glances up at his brother through his lashes. Sam's face, still unreadable. Eyes on Dean.

He tells Dean, "Get down on the bed, like you were."

Goosebumps on his skin, Dean complies.

Sam's big hands, rubbing up the backs of his legs and over his ass. "Lift up."

Dean hates this, being on display. But he complies. Gets up on his knees; presses his cheek to the bed.

The first slap startles a yelp out of him. Dean breathing hard, shaking. Another slap stings hot over his butt. Sam's hands, kneading his ass, spreading him apart, then slapping him so hard his butt jiggles. 

"Ngh! Sammy—"

"Don't talk."

Sam's big hands, squeezing his ass. The hand that lets go delivers a sharp slap to his ass cheek, and Dean grunts, hips involuntarily bucking forward. Commanding hands tell him to keep his butt in the air.

He buries his face between his forearms on the mattress, humiliated and aroused. Sam, spanking him.

Then, without warning, Sam pushes two fingers into Dean's ass. He jerks at the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck, you're already wet."

Dean cries out as Sam shoves his fingers deeper into Dean's swollen ass. "You let him fuck you without a condom?"

Not that Sam ever bothers with a condom when he's fucking Dean.

"Slut," Sam calls him, voice quiet and mean. Dean shudders, feeling Sam's fingers in his ass.

"You're mine," Sam declares, like it's a fact.

Dean snorts. He lifts his head, twisting around to glare at his brother defiantly. "That's rich, considering how we're in Texas right now, visiting ... What's her name again?"

Sam ignores the question. "You're prepped enough," he decides, pushing Dean facedown, pinning him down by the back of his neck. Dean tenses up until he hears the click of a bottlecap. Without lube, Sam's dick would rip him open.

Then a slicked up cock sliding along his crack, nudging against his sore hole.

Dean winces. Even with the lube, it's gonna hurt. Dean's heart drumming crazily in his chest. Sam's hands settling on his hips.

He clenches his teeth to keep from yelling as Sam drives into him. Thick as Benny, but he fucks in deeper, so Dean's gut cramps up. He's in mute agony for a moment, his body trying and failing to resist entry, until he stops fighting—Dean's been fucked a lot, and he's figured out how to relax. Good thing, too, because Sam pulls out and thrusts back in fast, hardly caring if Dean adjusts. Dean focuses on his breathing. He tries to lift his head, but Sam shoves him back down, and he whimpers, grabbing fistfuls of bedsheet, ass in the air getting fucked like a bitch.

Sam pistoning in and out of him. Bedsprings whining. Dean's cock swinging between his legs, hard and leaking.

Then Sam bends over him, presses his chest into Dean's back. He tangles his fingers through Dean's on the bed, kissing his neck, and it feels so familiar—so much like home—that Dean wants to cry.

Dean's been fucked a lot, but if the guy fucking him had been Sam enough of the time (every time), then maybe he wouldn't feel so confused. There was a time when Sam would get  _pissed_ at Dean for walking around naked, or sticking things in his mouth... and then there was a time when Sam was part demon or something, and he'd push Dean up against the nearest convenient surface and fuck him til Dean was begging incoherently, not sure if he wanted more or if he wanted it to stop. There was a time when the world was ending, and their kisses were full with regret, with all the things they couldn't say. There was a time when Sam didn't have a soul, and he'd get Dean into bed regardless of what Dean wanted. Then the years after, a time when they tried to pretend that none of it happened _(it's dirty, fucking your brother)_ , but by silent agreement they spent their nights close by each other, even though they didn't touch.

Now Sam, thrusting into him, whispering "Jesus Christ, Dean." Sam heavy on his back, pressing his face into Dean's neck, kissing him.

"Spread your legs more," he says breathless.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and does what his little brother asks. Gasps as his brother's cock slams home.

There wasn't ever a good time, but it still feels holy. Sam, breathing "Dean Dean Dean."

Dean's eyes prick with tears. God, he's such a mess. Horny, hole raw, overstimulated. Sam's balls slapping the backs of his thighs. A roaring sound like a conflagration, blurring out everything else.

He groans when Sam pulls out, flips him onto his back. Screws him deeper like this, mouth on Dean's. Dean closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see.

"Open your eyes, Dean."

Dean does, but it's almost unbearable, like the burning heat is all trapped inside his chest. His brother.

"Who do you belong to?"

Dean hesitates.

Sam thrusts into him hard. Dean gasps. Then Sam goes still.

"Who do you belong to?"

Dean, on his back with his legs spread, his brother's oversized cock in him. Dean, lost in the woods of purgatory, thinking delirious thoughts about his little brother.

"You," Dean breathes.

Dean's voice, desperate: "Yours, Sammy, 'm always yours, please..."

"Prove it," Sam says. Dean reaches down, hands on Sam's ass, urging him on. Sam clenching his jaw, moving a little.

"Sammy please," Dean begs, wrapping his legs around Sam's back.

"Sometimes I hate you," Sam murmurs.

Dean's heart, aching, burning.

Sam pauses to rub Dean's nipples and kiss him properly before pounding into him, angling Dean's hips so every thrust goes right into his prostate before sliding deeper into his body. Dean can't fight the mounting orgasm and it hurts, can't do anything but hold on as Sam fucks him.

With a low noise in his throat, Sam slows his thrusts to maddening, kissing Dean deeply and caressing his thighs. Dean suddenly feels trapped, tries to push out from under his brother, but Sam pins him down and he can't move.

He shudders and comes, making a mess between their bodies. Everything's grey.

His senses return and Sam's still fucking him, his ass feels wet and stretched open. Then Sam thrusts deep, coming inside his big brother. Collapsing on him.

They're sweating and panting when Sam pushes off. 

Scared he might leave, Dean says, "Sammy?"

But Sam only bows over him, hands on Dean's body. Looking at Dean's nakedness. He bites Dean's neck, sucks his sore nipples. Pushes three fingers in his used ass, wet with all the semen Sam fucked into him. Dean's dick feels broken, but it manages a pathetic little dribble of precum when Sam's fingers brush his shocky prostate.

He gets up on his elbows, brushes his lips against Sam's. Sam hesitating, then kissing him hard, tongue in Dean's mouth.

They kiss until Sam's halfway hard again. He groans, pressing their foreheads together. A big hand on the side of Dean's neck. "Fuck, why're you like this?"

"Like what."

Sam's fast, yanking Dean's legs up. Dean falls back on the mattress with a loud creak.

Dean blinks up at him, surprised. Sam's watching him narrowly, like Dean's the one who's dangerous.

"Dammit Sam. You can't put all this on me."

"You don't even get it, do you?"

That stings a bit, like Sam's calling him stupid, but Dean simply asks, "Get what?"

Sam shakes his head tightly, sweaty hair falling in his eyes. "You're unbelievable," he scoffs.

Dean's mad now. He sits up again, demanding, "How the fuck 'm I supposed to 'get it' when you won't even tell me what you're talking about?"

Sam regards him for a long moment, then wraps his arms around Dean's back and takes him down again. They both crash to the bed and Sam's kissing Dean's neck, kissing his mouth. Kissing him, kissing him.

When he's calmed down a little, he says quietly, "Dean, I can't—Can we talk about this later?"

Dean feels Sam's erection, hot against his inner thigh.

Heart rushing, Dean asks, "I'm not gonna get any sleep tonight, am I?"

Sam pulls away, won't look at him. "Depends." He laughs bitterly. "This a one-night thing?"

"Dunno," Dean says. "You want it to be?"

"Dunno," Sam says.

Cicadas make a ruckus outside the motel window. Sam looks at the floor.

Dean's heart feels like a pile of cinders.

Eventually, to break the silence, he says, "I'm beat, man. Should I get another room or what."

Sam frowns at him. "No. Stay here."

"Okay." 

Sam gets up to turn off the lights. Dean watches him move, deciding Sam looks best in his birthday suit. He feels like a pervert for thinking it, but he's smiling when Sam gets in bed behind him, leaving his customary goodnight kiss on the back of Dean's head.

He settles into his brother's arms, determined not to fall asleep.

 

A sharp rap at the door wakes Dean abruptly. "Coming," he mumbles, trying to turn over in bed. It's probably his pain in the ass little brother—little nerd musta got himself locked out somehow.

Then he's pulled back against a big sasquatch chest. He reaches over his shoulder to feel long silky hair and smiles— _Sammy's here_.

He turns in his brother's arms, pressing his face into hot skin. 

Taptaptap.

Sam's half hard against his leg, and he takes a moment to kiss his little brother, squeezing his waist.

Then he sighs into Sam's skin. "Gerroff me," he complains, though really he's more on Sam than vice versa.

Sam doesn't move.

" _Door_ ," Dean grunts with exasperation, then drags himself into a seated position. Which, okay, hurts.

No sooner has he lifted his abused butt from the bed than Sam pulls him back into its warmth. He kisses the back of Dean's head. "Dean, trust me.. you don't want to answer that."

Dean's muzzy brain tries to figure out what kind of supernatural creature will wait patiently outside the motel room without slaughtering innocent people in their sleep, but then he realizes the obvious.

Wide-eyed, he turns to Sam. "Amelia?" he asks.

Sam doesn't answer, which means yes. He slaps Sam's bicep. "So?" he hisses. "Answer it!"

Sam gives him a flat look. "I'm naked, and..." running his palm down Dean's bare back, "I'm not alone. I think decency trumps courtesy here."

"I'll hide in the bathroom. Just put your goddamned clothes on."

"Dean," Sam sighs heavily. "I don't want you doing that anymore."

"Doing what?"

Taptaptap.

Dean glowers. "What if she keeps knocking. You just gonna let her stand out there?"

"She won't keep knocking."

Dean lifts his head a little, peering at her shadow, silhouetted in moonlight against the motel curtains.

"You're kind of a dick," he says to Sam.

"Go back to sleep," Sam says.

She doesn't knock again.

 

 

 


	4. ain't no home for me

 He rouses Dean a little later, kissing the back of his neck. "Dean," he says, kissing him. " _Dean_."

"Wassamatter," Dean mumbles. He's sore in his gut, between his legs, on his lips and neck, where Sam sucked bruises. He's probably got countless bruises elsewhere, too, and he feels like sleeping for about a week. So whatever Sam's troubling him about, it'd better be good.

"We should probably talk about this," Sam says reluctantly.

Dean groans. "Let's do that... Approximately never."

Sam licks the bruises he left on the back of Dean's shoulder. He's not precisely arguing, but he's not letting Dean sleep either. Petulant little bitch.

But it's January, and the motel actually has a working air conditioner, and the sheets are a mess under them—rumpled, but still somehow tucked in at the edges. Dean's naked. The room's cold. What follows should be obvious, but he hasn't gotten much sleep and he's not really thinking, the way he never really thinks about things properly when it comes to Sam. So he shifts back against his little brother, who could pass as a human furnace. And of course, Sam's dick is standing at attention, wet where it pokes the back of Dean's thigh. Sam hisses and Dean grunts; Sam pulls him fast and Dean tenses up, not anywhere near ready for a repeat performance.

His little brother's hand, sliding down from where it rested on Dean's stomach just moments before, sliding low between Dean's legs, palm brushing the tip of Dean's cock. He's surprised by how quickly he gets it up, Sam touching him lightly. Just running his fingers along the underside of Dean's cock. A quiet, breathless minute, and he's thrusting against Sam's hand. 

Sam sinks his teeth into Dean's shoulder, right on top of a bruise.

"Agh! Sammy—fuckin hell."

Sam takes Dean's cock in his hand, and Dean's suddenly swearing for a different reason. He bucks his hips forward, fully hard now, and Sam jerks him slow, pulling an embarrassing moan out of him.

But he feels Sam's erection behind, and he knows where this is going. 

Dean tries to keep the sex out of his voice: "Can I take a rain check? Not as young as I used to be, dude."

Sam kisses him. "Relax," he murmurs.

Sam's hand, carding through Dean's hair. "Not gonna fuck you again 'til you're ready."

Sam's other hand, stroking his cock. 

Sam biting him again in the same spot—his bruise will have a bruise. 

Dean swearing, pumping his hips. Loving the feel of Sam's hands on him.

"Not that I don't want to..." Sam takes a deep shuddering breath as Dean's ass accidentally drags over his cock, then he clears his throat and continues more calmly, "but I understand that you can't right now. Must be tough, switching partners so fast."

Dean wants to laugh but it's not quite funny, so he makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. "You're worse than me," he observes quietly. 

His brother's hand, callused, pulling on his dick just right. Dean fucks Sam's scratchy palm til he's shaking, and he comes all over his brother's fist with a shout. But this thing with Sam takes no prisoners, and he feels bad that he finished first, with Sam's cock still hard behind him. Feeling like he might die from the humiliation, he spreads his legs, squeezes Sam's cock between them. Lets Sam fuck between his thighs. 

He fades out after that, but his oblivion is temporary. When he blinks awake again, it's with the vague awareness that only a few minutes have passed.

Sam, tracing patterns in the jizz cooling on Dean's stomach. Sam wants to talk about it, and now Dean's too utterly exhausted to refuse.

"Gonna keep pestering me all night or what?"

Dean's voice is rough, but Sam takes it for the invitation it is, rolling onto his back away from Dean, stretching his long arm above him so his knuckles knock the headboard. Taptaptap. But he only does it once.

A long while passes in silence. Dean's eyelids get heavy with sleep.

Then Sam says awkwardly, "I never wanted this. It's not normal, to wanna fuck your own brother. I mean, honestly it's not even normal for me to... I mean you fuck other guys, but I never have."

Dean grunts. Good luck getting him to admit to that one, even if Sam's got concrete evidence.

"And for that matter I wish you'd stop. Drives me crazy, knowing that he fucked you."

A beat.

"He's a goddamned vampire, Dean."

Sam's saying obvious things. And it's not like Dean can change what happened. Even if he wants to.

"And I don't like how it's such an... _exception_ , for me. I used to think, 'Maybe it's the demon blood'. Or like, maybe I was cursed..." he trails off.

The stuff Sam's saying makes Dean vaguely nauseous, but he feels sorry for his little brother nonetheless.

"Christ, Sam," he mutters.

Sam sits up beside him, agitated. "I mean, being attracted to your own brother isn't normal to begin with, but I'm not just attracted... Dean, you—you flip some switch in my brain and I can't control myself. I've never been that way with anyone else."

Sam's looking at him, but Dean can't look back. He closes his eyes in pain. "That why you said you hated me?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam fidgeting.

"Yeah," his little brother says gently, after a moment. "That's why. But Dean, you know I don't."

"Sam—" Dean starts, not wanting false reassurance.

"No, Dean, really. I could never," Sam's hand on his arm, but it's quickly withdrawn. Dean keeps his eyes tightly shut, face as blank as he can make it.

When Sam continues, it's with a huff of self-deprecation. "Though I guess it's my fault if you believe I do. Dean... God knows I've tried to stop wanting you. I don't want _this_ , you know? I know it fucks with your head, too. I mean, it's not just me... If you were to castrate me in my sleep I'd probably deserve it."

"You're full of shit, you know that?"

"No, Dean, listen—"

"Nuh-uh. You're full of shit," he says again, sitting up. Sam's eyes wide, watching Dean. "I mean it," Dean says. Sam's eyes flick over Dean's body, briefly, then he shuts them tight. But Dean wants to chase his gaze, so he crawls into his lap, not caring whether it's humiliating. "You're full of shit up to your eyeballs. Why do you think I never wanna talk about this stuff? You always twist it somehow!"

Sam's looking at him again, that narrow look, angry. "Do I?"

"Yeah."

"You think I'm making this up?"

"Damn straight."

He sees it coming a split second before it happens: Sam wraps his arms around him tight and they're rushing through the air. The bed screams as they land together: Dean on his back with his head off the foot of the bed, Sam between his legs, angry and fucking strong. Forcing Dean into the awareness that his brother could take what he wants whenever Dean decides not to give it freely. An edged panic fluttering through his chest.

Getting off him, Sam says seriously, "Dean, you know what I'm talking about."

Dean's head hanging off the foot of the bed, blood rushing to his face. He stares at the ceiling until his heart slows a little, then gets up. Sits at the foot of the bed, facing the wall.

At length, Sam moves beside him. "When I didn't have my soul... I... Dean, I don't know why you let me do that to you."

Dean winces. "You're saying this now? Sammy, that was years ago."

Sam clasps his hands together contritely. "I was waiting for you to bring it up."

"Me? I'm fine."

"Dean, you're not fine."

"Yeah, well. Maybe that's not for you to decide."

Sam bends over, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Like he's exhausted.

"That—none of that was fine, Dean. I don't know if I can do this again."

Dean waits, but Sam doesn't say anything more.

Dean's silent. He can't really process it all at once. He hates himself too, though: because of his actions, Sam's gonna leave him again. Only this time it's probably for good.

His eyes scan the room for something that'll buy him time, and light on the bag Sam grabbed. It's not Sam's backpack, but their backup weapons bag—something Sam packed during the hunt, before he stole a car and rushed to Texas. Which means there's a pair of handcuffs in the front pocket. He can actually see the little ring shaped bulges they make from where he's sitting.

He considers them—not something he should do, but Sam owes him about a dozen apologizes so maybe this will even the score. 

He gets up and wanders over to the bag, on a pretense of borrowing a pair of Sam's boxers. 

Sam, watching him with all due suspicion. "Dean, what're you doing?"

Dean pausing, delaying the moment when he opens the bag—there are no clean clothes inside. "You mind if I clean up before I leave?"

Sam looks like maybe he minds a lot, but he stammers out, "No—I mean, sure. Go ahead. But Dean..."

"Save it."

Sam flops back on the bed, dejected, and spares Dean the trouble of explaining how the weapons bag will help him 'clean up.'

He moves slow so the chain won't clink, approaching the bed with handcuffs hidden behind him. Then he's on Sam, lightning fast, cuffing one wrist to the bedframe.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice carries a note of betrayal.

Sam, struggling but it's too late. Dean woulda cuffed both his wrists if he thought Sam'd give him the time. Sam yanking the chain hard enough to shake the bed. Glaring at him.

Guilt wells up in Dean's chest. "It's just for now," he grunts.

"Fuck," Sam says softly.

Dean rises—meaning to get dressed—but an arm snakes out and catches him around the waist, pulling him fast against his brother's side. 

"Dean," his baby brother says, lips in Dean's hair, voice inexplicably warm.

Dean squirms.

"You saying you don't want me to leave?" Sammy's hand running down his back like sensual torture.

"Saying I want to get some sleep," Dean amends gruffly, "without worrying that your flighty ass will hit the road before morning."

Sam makes a choked sound, and for an instant Dean thinks he's upset. Then he realizes, Sam's laughing.

"What's so funny.." he asks, wary.

"Nothing, just—" Sam takes a deep breath, then nuzzles Dean's hair, kissing his head. "It's nothing," he sighs.

Dean flushes, but settles against his brother's chest.

Sam holding Dean from behind, caressing Dean's bare stomach. Dean's suddenly aware of how soft he is there, his muscles running deep but he's got some padding, and his skin has always been smooth. He's suddenly aware, too, of his sore nipples, his fucked out ass, the way Sam's holding him. He really doesn't do this with other guys. Well, neither of them do. Dean's aroused by it because it turns Sam on, knowing Dean will drop the macho act and spread for his little brother. But Sam? Maybe Sam's right, and he can only appreciate it because Dean's pretty, almost like a woman. 

Not for the first time, Dean hates his own face. He wishes it were possible to know whether Sam would want to fuck him if he looked different. But he'll never have that reassurance.

Sam kissing him, curling against his back. Murmuring, "Don't let other guys... Just, don't touch anyone else from now on."

And Dean can't say no to his baby brother, so he says "Okay." 

 

They wake up together.

Sam sits bolt upright, jerking the chain where he's cuffed to the bed. "Oh fuck," he says.

Dean sits up too. "What? What is it?"

Blue lights flashing outside the window.

"Martin's dead, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, Dean I stole his car."

"Oh fuck."

Dean's off the bed, rummaging around for the handcuffs key. "Since when are the police actually competent?"

Sam, yanking on the chain of the handcuffs. "Hold still!" Dean barks under his breath, jimmying the little key in the lock and abandoning the other side of the cuffs, pulling his brother off the bed.

He throws Sam's pants at him, grabs his own clothes, and yanks his little brother into the bathroom, latching the door behind. There's a quick tussle, some zippers, and then Dean's balancing awkwardly between his brother's shoulder and the bathroom sink, kicking out the high window. He vaults through and reaches back, pulling Sammy up after him.

Then they're tripping shoeless through the dewy grass, air still blue with morning, outside the back of the motel.

Dean, touching Sam as if to verify that he's in one piece. "You got your wallet?"

Sam checks his pockets, nods.

"Okay, there's nothing in there to identify us." _Besides our prints_ , he thinks, but if they get Martin's car they'll already have Sam's.

He gives the orders and Sam listens: "We go around the side of the building and drive off while they're searching our room. And shut up about my speeding."

Giving Sammy's chest a final pat, he turns to go.

Sam's looking at him, eyes mournful.

"What?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nothing. Let's move."

They're waiting on the far side of the building, ready to bolt, when they hear "Open up! DEA! We have a warrant to search these premises!"

Their eyes meet, surprised. Plenty of organizations would happily rain fire and brimstone on their asses, but the DEA isn't one of them.

Dean peers around the corner of the building, very stealthy, and sees the cops banging on the room next door. He rounds on his brother, who's thrown his head back, bursting with silent laughter.

For a moment, Sam looks so young. He kind of squeaks with the strain of keeping quiet.

The police aren't here for them at all. Which makes this whole operation... Very smooth.

Dean shoves Sam into the brick wall, out of sight. "You little criminal," he says quietly. "Should keep you chained up permanently."

Sam smiles. For an instant, Dean wonders if this wasn't some elaborate ploy Sam concocted to get out of handcuffs: he could have made an anonymous call about a meth lab in room 118, or—

Then they're kissing, and he loses his train of thought.

 

Several weeks later, spirits are high following the Battle of Kingdoms. Sam alternates between pissed and affectionate towards Dean, but they still haven't discussed the elephant in the room.

With no cases on the horizon, they decide to hit up some local dive outside Ann Arbor, where—to their surprise—people recognize them. Dean's lauded as the Queen's champion, hero of Moondoor. And, even more delightful (in Dean's opinion), Sam gets clapped on the back as several guys loudly retell his tragic fall—gutted by a styrofoam javelin in the first two minutes of battle.

Sam isn't thrilled.

As they steadily part with sobriety, one of the guys (Mark or Mike, Dean can't remember) starts touching Dean a lot. At first it seems like an accident, but then he starts leaning in to be heard over the bar noise, and his hand settles low on Dean's back and stays there, perilously close to his gun.

Dean doesn't exactly pull away: the guy's tall, handsome in a nerdy, bespectacled way, and he smells good. Plus Sam is right next to them, acting mostly nonchalant like he has for the past couple weeks.

Ever since he fell into bed with his brother that first time, Dean hasn't enjoyed hookups quite the same, but it doesn't mean he won't enjoy it at all. Besides, he needs some kind of distraction: He misses Benny, and if he's honest he misses Sam too, even though Sam's been by his side for weeks. But they're mostly working, and Dean doesn't know how long Sam's gonna stick around this time.

This time, something's gonna change. And anyway, if Sam decides he wants Dean, he's not gonna hide it. Sam gets what he wants.

So Dean decides this guy's name is Mark, and leans into his touch a little. Mark's lips, brushing Dean's ear. "Forgive me if I'm reading this wrong," he whispers, "but Dean... you're _really_ hot." Sweet, straightforward, earnest Mark. Dean likes him plenty, so he pulls away and shoots the guy a dazzling grin. Telling him he's reading the situation just fine.

The answering look of stunned arousal makes Dean warm inside.

Three shots later, Mark's got a hand on his thigh, hidden under the bar. Sliding up the inseam of his jeans, fingers digging into his flesh.

"You wanna get out of here?"

"God yes," Dean breathes, hoping the guy brought a rubber.

Their mouths are inches apart, and Dean's just thinking how he's more than a little buzzed and he ought to be careful about flirting with another guy in public, when the hand stroking his leg halts abruptly.

Sam's leaning over him, grabbing Mark's wrist. Eyes like blades.

"I think Dean's had enough," he says icily.

Dean's about to protest when Sam hauls him up by the front of his shirt, tilts his face back, and kisses him in front of everyone. For a stunned moment, Dean lets it happen. Heart tripping, hammering in his chest, because not only has he never kissed a guy in public before, but he's pretty sure when their FBI cover was blown they revealed themselves as brothers.

He jerks away, grabbing his stupid, stupid brother by the arm. Dragging him out of the bar without a word to the others. He doesn't relax until the night air hits his face and he's looking over his shoulder, shoving Sam in the direction of the passenger seat. Nobody followed them out. He huffs at himself: it's Ann Arbor, for chrissake. What'd he think was gonna happen?

Sam's quiet during the drive. Dean turns the radio on, hoping to drown out the silence.

_I just wanna use your love tonight... I don't wanna lose your love tonight..._

He punches it off again. Never liked 80s music.

(That song came out when Sammy was still a baby. When Dean was practically his mom. God, they are so screwed up.)

Sam stares out the window, quiet. A million things he could say: that Dean broke his promise, couldn't keep his slutty legs closed. He'd be right if he said it—Dean wouldn't even argue. But Sam doesn't say anything. Just watches the scenery shoot past, eyes soft and clear, like he's real sad about something. And Dean doesn't understand.

He's relieved when Sam pushes him back against the motel room door, soon as it's shut. Hands on Dean's hips, thumbs rubbing circles in his skin just under his shirt. Sam kissing under Dean's jaw, sucking the skin between his teeth, but not hard enough to leave a mark.

Dean tips his head back and shuts his eyes. He's turned on, but he also aches, deep in his chest. Breathing harsh, his brother's mouth on his.

"Gonna fuck me?" he says against Sam's lips. 

Sam, kissing him. "Not tonight," he says. Eyes a little wet when Dean looks.

And he doesn't know why.

 

Dean's never been good at taking no for an answer.

After a long shower, he opens the bathroom door quietly. Sees his brother on the far bed, facing the wall. Takes a couple soft steps into their room, dripping on the carpet. Sammy doesn't turn. On impulse, Dean grabs the bag with the lube and returns to the solitude of the bathroom.

He turns the bottle over in his hands, wondering what he's gonna do with it. Masturbate? Finger himself open?

He's uncertain at first, leaning over the counter and fingering himself. Then it starts feeling good, and he drops his head, working three fingers in his ass, deep as they'll go. Pulls out a couple times, applying a ton of lube so he's all open and wet.

When he comes to his senses, he realizes he's breathing hard and the lube is making squelching noises and Sammy's gonna hear. He listens: nothing. Wraps the towel around his waist and heads out to stand between the two beds.

Sammy doesn't turn. So Dean lets the towel fall to the floor and climbs into his brother's bed. Sam stiffens. He's naked under the covers. Dean touches him, palm on his shoulder. 

Sam's voice, all choked up. "Dean—"

"Ssh. It's okay, Sammy."

Sam turning, pulling Dean into his arms. Dragging big hands up and down Dean's back, burying his face in Dean's neck.

Dean strokes his fingers through Sammy's silky hair, kisses his head.

He mouths,  _Sorry._

Sam kisses the curve of his neck. 

Lying on their sides, kissing, it's not long before they both get hard.

Dean's hand rubbing down Sam's back, fingers catching on a raised line—a knife wound that ended Sammy's life. He touches it and Sam goes still. Then Dean's surging forward, kissing his brother's throat, his chin, his face.

Sam's hands cup his cheeks, not stopping him but slowing him a little. Sam whispering, "Hey, Dean. Dean."

Dean's eyes prick with tears _—his little brother, and he didn't ask for this either, wishes they could just be brothers, but he fell for Sam and he's still falling—_ Sam kissing him, gentle and deep. A low, raking arousal, one that's been around far longer than either of them will admit, rushing under his skin. He can feel his brother's resolve slipping.

Then Sam rolls Dean onto his back. Not really intent on fucking him yet, just pushing his cock against Dean's entrance. Except that it's already slick and open, and the head of Sam's cock slips in and then out with ease. Dean's breath catches, and Sam pauses, shocked.

"Dean? did you.."

He doesn't wait for an answer though, before thrusting against Dean's entrance again. Big as he is, with the slide of lube he still pushes in, deep. 

"Oh my god," he breathes. His dick is hard like metal and the fine tremor of restraint runs through him. "Dean, you—" he lets out a harsh breath. "Fuck!"

He pulls out and slams back in. Dean cries out.

Sam doesn't stop. "Why'd you do it."

He's thrusting in hard, deep, hurting Dean. Dean spreading his legs and taking it. Liking it. Sam's mouth on his, kissing biting then just open as he fucks him. Dean whimpers.

Rhythm, rhythm faltering, cresting, and then they plummet over the edge together in a blur of white.

 

"How am I supposed to read this? Huh?" Sam's angry, pacing. "That you'd do anything for my forgiveness?"

"I would," Dean says honestly.

"No, Dean... Don't do this," Sam begs.

But Dean can't help himself.

"Dean, you know I love you, right? I'll always love you. You never have to let me—this thing—I'll always love you regardless."

"But you won't always stay," Dean says.

Sam hesitates a second too long and Dean knows he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, it's not that I don't get anything out of hunting—not that I don't think it's important—but I don't feel obligated to sacrifice myself for—for what? The greater good? I mean, sometimes we help people, but Dean, there will always be another monster. And even if we slam the gates of Hell, there will still be just—just bad people."

He sighs heavily. "I did time in the cage, Dean. I paid my dues. So I just don't feel like I owe it to anyone, to keep hunting. Hunters die young and they die bloody. We've always known that. God, why do you think I hated it so much when you wanted to follow in Dad's footsteps, growing up?"

Dean feels like there's a crushing weight on his chest. His voice comes out a little strangled. "What are you trying to say, Sammy?"

Sam shoots him a look that's both loving and condescending, and it twists things inside him that ain't meant to be twisted.

"I'm saying I'm here because I want to be with you, Dean. I'm saying I'm hunting so I can stand by your side."

"Yeah? And what if I say that's not good enough?"

Sam's eyes are wet now, and he doesn't try hiding it. "Then I can't be a hunter anymore, Dean. I had enough of this life when we killed Yellow Eyes, and I had enough when we stopped the apocalypse, and I had enough when we sent the Leviathans packing. What do you want from me?"

Dean nods, disappointed. "Commitment, Sam. I want you in this fight, and every one that comes after it."

"So you're saying you want me by your side, regardless of whether we're—"

"I don't see how me putting out has anything to do with hunting!"

Sam shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath—angry now. "It's what I just said, Dean. Open your eyes: I'm in love with you. You have a right to my love, after all these years, but you can't just keep me around because it's convenient, because you picked a shit lifestyle and you're scared to live it alone! I mean—God! Why do you _think_ I keep leaving!"

Dean's stunned. "You really don't want to be a hunter."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, okay? After that crap with—with Benny, and I stuck up for the guy—the _vampire_ —who was fucking you, and I—I let him walk! So no, frankly I don't."

Dean sets his jaw. "Well, nothing's stopping you." He keeps his voice carefully calm. "Why don't you go find Amelia and—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dean! What, you want me to swear my allegiance to you forever?"

Dean's quiet. Actually, that doesn't sound bad at all, but there's always a catch.

Sure enough, Sam shakes his head. "Goddammit," he breathes, and "I'm gonna regret this."

Dean's heart sinks.

Except then Sam's down on one knee at Dean's feet. Dean's eyes widen in disbelief as Sam takes his hand.

"I swear," he says.

Dean blinks, not even sure what Sam's swearing to.

Sam looks up at him, eyes dark, and Dean's pulse is in his stomach.

"I can't promise every moment, but for the most part, I swear."

"Sam—"

Sam turns Dean's hand over and kisses his palm.

Dean, touching Sam's face. "Sammy," he says softly, reverently.

Sam, kissing his knuckles.

Sam caressing him, kneeling at his feet. He looks up into Dean's eyes, so tender, and Dean understands suddenly: he hears the rest of the words reverberating through his skull:

_You're a fucking jerk. You give me everything, every part of you, and I never asked for it. But I love you. God help me, I love you. So I swear. I swear I'll stay by your side. In sickness and in health. Til death do us part. But, knowing you, you'll probably strike some deal and... We'll probably end up in the same place, won't we? So really I'm signing on for longer._

Dean thinks he imagined the words, but as soon as they've finished, Sam kisses his hand once more and rises.

He looks impossibly tall. Reaching down, he brushes his fingers along the side of Dean's face. The gesture is affectionate, so why do his eyes look damned?

"You don't have to worry about me leaving anymore, Dean, all right? So now you can decide if you really want this."

His thumb strokes along Dean's cheek, then he backs up, waiting for Dean to make his move. 

"Even if I say no, you won't leave?"

Sam nods tightly. "I'm gonna need a few weeks to clear my head if you don't want this, but yeah, I'll come back. And you—don't fucking tempt me, or so help me—" He stops short. Dean shivers, thinking of how mad and dominant Sammy gets. 

But another part of him is fine with it: Sammy, his Sammy— _baby brother, the glow that's lit his life, his everything_ —won't leave anymore.

For the first time since Sammy left for Stanford, Dean thinks maybe things will turn out okay.

He rises and goes to his brother, kissing him on the mouth. Sam's still resistant for some reason, but Dean goes soft and Sam caves, kissing him back, full and deep.


End file.
